


Levitation

by PromisesArePieCrust



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4811105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PromisesArePieCrust/pseuds/PromisesArePieCrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lusty, angsty sequences from various Phryne/Jack alternate universes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He pressed her suddenly against the hotel bedroom wall, which was a rougher move than she had been expecting. She smiled.

They had shared a bed a half-dozen times by now, and the intensity and aftermath of these encounters was unraveling him. He had never been prone to obsessive thinking, but the past week had opened a world of compulsion and depth of feeling that stunned him. He was reeling and desperate. 

She took his blunt gesture as foreplay, but he shifted the firm grip he had of her shoulders to her wrists to stop her from trying to caress him. She looked at him in surprise. Their faces were close but not touching, and his eyes flicked from her lips to her eyes, unable to make a decision. 

“I don’t want to love you,” he said, his voice strained and slow. His eyes were pleading with her; he felt like he had pinned a witch to the wall and was beseeching her to lift a spell. 

“Would it be so bad?” she offered, and smiled slightly, leaning forward to try to grab a kiss. 

“Probably.”

“Probably,” she smiled in agreement.

She had misinterpreted his comment. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fall in love with her in the future, it was that he loved her already, and wasn’t sure he could take it. 

The largest part of his desperation was believing that she wouldn’t love him back. Their time together was, he convinced himself over the week, a pleasant diversion for her, but little else. He remembered a brief discussion about Lin, her voice light but firm: “I refuse to be tied to any man.” 

As he stood in front of her now, unable to control his breathing, his eyes finally rested on her lips, and his own lips gave up their fast. He kissed her hungrily, hoping he could kiss her so thoroughly the job would be done for good. He remembered the leaky wine vessel, that which is never satisfied, but always hoping that the next drop will be the one that sates. Perhaps he could be the exception, and he could get enough; this tryst could be the last, the one that satisfies for always. Maybe he could even begin to think of something besides her. 

She whimpered under the heat of his kisses. They started to sink onto the bed, and she gave a soft moan and called his name. As his mouth moved down and back up her body, she had a sense of levitation, of otherworldliness, and, with effort, she spoke softly into his ear: “You can love me.” She paused. Breathed. “Please love me.” Her voice became a choked whisper: “Jack, I do love you so.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was only a dream, she reiterated to herself; a stupid, unsettling dream. Focus.

Currently she sat tucked up on her settee. Jack smiled at her from the mantle, and she wilfully ignored the jolt the smile sent to her toes, instead focusing on her drink and voicing an inane comment on the case. 

“I suppose we can only be grateful we got there when we did.”

“Yes.”

She looked up. She saw his softened, somber eyes, and she felt more and more as though she were struggling for purchase on a crumbling ledge. She watched him take a sip, noticing a small bead of liquid shimmer on his lower lip. So unbearably dear. She closed her eyes. 

“Are you well, Miss Fisher?”

“Hmm? Yes, quite well.” 

In her dream she had watched him on a movie projection. He was shot, he was dying, and she was watching him fade and regretting her hesitance to love him. Then she looked down and saw deep red blooming across her own chest. It was she was was shot, the stain expanding through the elegant white lace bodice of her night gown. She felt her last exhale, knowing it was her last, then woke up.

It was a simple dream, but it had her shaking. The discomfort was not so much at her death (well, perhaps just a little), but at the implied inextricable connection to Jack, whom she was trying to hold lightly. 

She knew he felt strongly about her. He had effectively professed it—and kept admirably distant when he knew she didn't reciprocate. 

Right? She couldn't reciprocate. She couldn't yet… well, things were a bit complicated and she… Complications were… Or distractions! Lord, what would she do if she got too distracted? It was probably… 

She stood up quickly, attempting to shake herself out of her reverie. She stood up a little too quickly, the sudden drop in blood pressure making her sway. Jack came forward and supported her by the arm. Without a thought, without a stupid second thought, she leaned up and kissed him.

He pulled back quickly, but not far—their faces were were still close. “Don't tease.” His voice was pained and his eyes remained closed.

“I'm not, I swear, Jack,” she spoke quickly, scarcely able to move. “I can't stop thinking...I can think of little else but you.” After she spoke she shook her head, embarrassed and angry at her vulnerability and a little in awe of the emotional residue from her dream which seemed to have prompted all this. 

She had little time to regret her outburst, however, as Jack's hands, which had been tentatively hovering at her ribcage, slid behind her back, pulling her in for a full, heart-wrenching kiss.

In her imagination, she was tumbling, shanks flailing, into a whirling eddy, surrendered to gravity, to disorientation. In her body, she felt sure he was a lovely place to fall.


	3. Chapter 3

“When?” she demanded, laughing.

“I’m not playing.”

“When?” She tried again, rubbing the arch of her foot along the length of his leg.

“You’re not going to like it. Why would I want to irritate you now?” He fingered the piping on the neckline of her nightgown, then smoothed his thumb across her collarbone. In response, she offered her neck up, leaning back against the headboard.

“Won’t I like it?”

“No. You’ll want it to be the first time I saw your dagger, or when you figured out the cornet damper was the murder weapon.”

“The cornet damper discovery was pretty amazing.”

“Yes, it was.” He gave her a slow, appropriately appreciative kiss for her brilliance.

“I’m a hound with a scent, Jack; I won’t relent. It would be easier on us both if you just tell me.”

He gave a world-weary sigh which sounded much less convincing than normal.

“What are you afraid it will reveal of the depths of your psyche?” she added softly, with a teasing smile.

“I believe the depths of my psyche, Miss Fisher, are much less interesting than you presume.”

“I sincerely doubt that, Inspector.”

As he kissed her lips again, she felt the smile there. He broke away and looked her in the eye, then took her hand and began to play with her fingers.

“When you asked me to help you keep Jane with you.”

“Aha. Evidence of a nurturing instinct.”

“I suppose.”

She remained quiet, watching him manipulate her fingers and rub her nails with the palm of his thumb for several minutes.

“Phryne?”

She looked up at him.

“You’re right, I don’t like it. But so it goes.”

“Can’t be helped,” he offered quietly, as a kind of apology.

“No, I suppose not.” 

She leaned over, rubbing her nose against his, a slow grin spreading across her face as she swung her thigh over his lap to straddle him, and began kissing him with fervour.

He wrapped his hands around her waist, stilling her some.

“No, your turn.”

“Jack, I would have thought you’d be above such silly, romantic—”

He tickled her ribs, attempting to cut her off, but she continued “You have been an acquired taste, Jack—how could I possibly pinpoint—"

He rolled on top of her, kissing her and smoothing his hands down her legs, seeking other ticklish spots. “You’ll be disappointed,” she said of his search, “only the ribs.” He gave her a disbelieving frown, and he was vindicated as he discovered the spot behind her knee. She squealed. “Be careful, I can get you in my guard,” she said, wrapping her legs around his middle and preparing to grapple. She laughed gaily at his attempt at escape. His eyes, showing awe and delight in equal parts, swept over her face.

“You have a magnificent laugh.” 

“Thank you.” 

Unexpected tears pricked her eyes. She looked up and away, trying not to meet his gaze. He brought his hand to her face, touching her cheek and brushing her hair away from her forehead. 

“I was generally asked to keep it quiet. My mother said it reminded her of a drunk, salacious old man.”

He slowly peppered her face with light kisses. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“When you gave me the photographic plates of Charles Freeman and his lover,” she said finally.

“A willingness to break the law for you?”

She shook her head.

“A willingness to acknowledge that love doesn’t follow a prescribed route.”


End file.
